


I Appear Missing

by plastic_cello



Category: Captain America (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 11:04:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plastic_cello/pseuds/plastic_cello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Half a second later, Bucky had reached for the bowie knife strapped to his thigh, and leapt from his seat. The blade was already pressed to the intruder's throat, before the metal chair hit the floorboards with a deafening thud.</p><p>The intruder offered him a pointed look then suddenly chuckled; as if the prospect of a knife to the throat was child's play. Which truly wouldn't be that far from the truth either; Bucky knew what he was, and he supposed even his skill set wouldn't end his life one way or another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Appear Missing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LaLopez1981](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaLopez1981/gifts).



> This story came about once footage of Loki in a fur cloak cropped up online; don't worry though, there aren't any spoilers or anything of the sort in this (I haven't even watched the clip myself). And this was entitled "I Appear Missing" by the song from Queens of the Stone Age, which is epic.
> 
> Also I refer to the Winter Soldier as Bucky throughout the story, mostly because it was easier that way. And finally this is dedicated to LaLa; happy birthday darling, I hope you like it! :)

* * *

 

The city sprawled out before his very eyes; a frozen gem of twinkling lights and a symphony of noise. Some would call it beautiful, but Bucky couldn't see it. Bleak was a better word; merely existing because it had to. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder after all, and he wasn't one to appreciate the simpler of things.

Luxury and beauty were meant for other people; a rickety old building with wrinkled old women and bit-time criminals as tenants was where he belonged, and where he would gladly stay. His quarters were barren and minimal; the floorboards underneath his feet protested with every step he took, and the lumpy mattress on which he barely slept provided no comforts either.

He bathed in a claw-foot tub, filled with tepid water; sometimes cold. He used nondescript soap that smelled familiar and dried his skin. And he ate whatever gruel that he could find; the more tasteless it was the better. Even the vodka he drank was subpar, and it couldn't remove any of the murmurs of long forgotten memories that wanted to find their way to the forefront of his mind.

Everything was orderly and uniformed that way. The only thing he truly needed to focus on was his many missions, and the best way to execute them. Otherwise, he found no real meaning to anything else; which was precisely why he was haphazardly leaning back in his rusty old metal chair with his foot propped on the sill of his bedroom's small window.

He had only just arrived from a mission well done; his sniper rifle had been tucked away into its case and slid into the back of the wardrobe for safe keeping. He had yet to change into anything more appropriate either; he remained clothed in his leathers and lightly armored vest. His ski mask was still pulled over the lower half of his face, due in part because it was frigid in the room.

Depending on the day, the furnace either worked or not; he suspected tonight would be an unpleasant evening to say the least. But he wouldn't sleep anyway; he considered going for the half-drunk vodka bottle that he kept in a kitchen cupboard, only to brush the thought away for later. He was almost comfortable seated there, watching as frost slowly built across the glass in intricate patterns.

Except his own reflection seemed to draw his eyes more often than not, and he couldn't help but stare. Infrequently, he had been struck by a hint of déjà vu when faced with his own reflection. For a split-second, he had envisioned himself with military garb on with a cocky little grin on his face; so fully removed from what he was, that it bothered him.

He did not smile; nor did he spend much time in front of a mirror either. He spent little time admiring his features; he would shave himself, cut his hair choppily when it needed a trim, before applying a copious amount of grease paint around his eyes, while going out on covert missions.

But sometimes, he would recall a time when he would slap two hands to his cheeks with some sort of concoction, aftershave maybe, and whistle and sing a lyric or two from a jaunty song. And as quickly as it would grasp him, the memory would fade away; leaving behind a peculiar void in the center of his chest; which he would fill with strategies and ploys to succeed in any assassinations he was sent to carry through.

His eyes slid away from the window, instead focusing on the toe of his boot. It had been horribly scuffed several months beforehand; while assassination work was covert, he knew when to glide seamlessly into the shadows, while simultaneously distancing himself as quickly as he could. Somewhere along the line, he suspected in Bulgaria, he had mauled his boot and simply hadn't thought of replacing the set yet.

Tilting his head to the side, he continued to study it; only to keep his mind occupied. The horrible mixture of folk music from his elderly neighbor's adjacent apartment, and the sounds of a potential drug deal happening underneath his window were at least serving as a background distraction; although he had grown used to the combined sounds and hardly batted an eye anymore.

Not many things could, though. He had seen too much; been exposed to darkest of evils, and the most twisted things that humanity had to offer. He was a killer; trained, maybe even bred for it and petty crime and homey sounds were beyond him. Most things were…

"And they say Jotunheim is frigid." Someone announced somberly into the still air.

Half a second later, Bucky had reached for the bowie knife strapped to his thigh, and leapt from his seat. The blade was already pressed to the intruder's throat, before the metal chair hit the floorboards with a deafening thud.

The intruder offered him a pointed look then suddenly chuckled; as if the prospect of a knife to the throat was child's play. Which truly wouldn't be that far from the truth either; Bucky knew what he was, and he supposed even his skill set wouldn't end his life one way or another. Loki was purportedly a god; the same god, who had single-handedly attempted to subjugate the planet only several years beforehand.

"Is this any way to greet someone?"

"You weren't invited; you broke in." Bucky kept the blade to Loki's throat; his hand steady and level with his jugular. It would only take a flick of the wrist, and he could make the god bleed. And he knew that Loki could bleed; he had made him during their first encounter.

His first encounter with Loki had been under a peculiar set of circumstances. He had been sent to Kiev months ago to handle the assassination of a foreign dignitary, and had come across the god by chance. Bucky never asked why Loki had been there that night, lounging haphazardly on the ledge of a building with a foreboding expression on his face.

Things had progressed from there; an exchange of haughty words, which ended in knife play, and somehow (still unbeknownst to Bucky) with him in between the god's sinewy thighs and rutting between them until he had found something darkly enriching that he had only been privy to with Romanova.

It had felt better with Loki, somehow. Maybe it was because he hadn't had to be delicate; Romanova was still smaller, softer than he was. Whereas Loki was taller, harder in places, and an immovable force; that seemed to want to be taken roughly until blood was eventually shed.

"Touchy, aren't we?" The god smiled thinly.

"What do you want?" Bucky lowered his hand, but remained on the defensive; although his chances would undoubtedly be slim, if Loki had already decided to kill him.

Loki stepped away from him, and studied the barren bedroom. The double size bed was the focal point of the space; it was made of simple metal, heavy-duty and old. Scratchy blankets covered the mattress, while a solitary pillow that hid a revolver sat against the headboard. The wardrobe, made of battered cherry wood, stood across from the bed; while the side table with a ceramic lamp, was situated to the left side of the bed.

But the details of the room seemed secondary in comparison to the god in the center of it all. Now that he wasn't utterly consumed with the need to attack, Bucky overlooked Loki from head to toe. The god's raven hair fell elegantly to his shoulders in waves, and he wore a heavy and thick fur lined mantle (or maybe a better word was robe). The collar was whitish-gray, almost blue in some places; while the rest of the shroud was as black as his hair.

"Are you always this tightly wound, Soldier?" Loki arched an eyebrow, as his voice danced with amusement.

"Most people would be, especially when faced with someone like you."

"Someone like me," Loki parroted, before he turned his back to him and paced his way to the splintered bathroom door.

The god peered through the crack, seemingly satisfied by what he found; before he walked back to Bucky carelessly. It was evident that Loki didn't find him to be a threat, which was a bitter pill to swallow. Not many people lived past their initial encounter with him. Then again, not many had persuaded him into a messy and brutal romp on a rooftop either.

"We can walk circles around one another all day, but I prefer if you got to the point." Bucky crouched, blindly reaching for his fallen chair; and righted it without removing his eyes from Loki.

"Ever the impatient one," Loki tutted, as one hand slipped from inside his mantle; he hooked his fingers underneath the silver pin that kept it shut, but didn't undo it yet. "But our previous tryst should have been an indicator of that, am I correct?"

"I'm blushing."

"I haven't given you reason to blush yet." Loki undid the pin then, before he allowed the heavy shroud to fall from his shoulders and pool around his booted feet.

The loud swoosh of cloth hitting the floorboards echoed through the room, and the sight revealed underneath drew pause from Bucky. His eyes scanned the god from head to toe once more; Loki was a plane of snowy white skin, lithe muscles, and elongated limbs. He was completely naked beyond his boots that stopped below the knee, and gave him an aura of power still.

Bucky hadn't seen much skin last time; they had only pushed down and unzipped necessary pieces of clothing, so that they could be intimate. So this was something to behold, and he supposed the title of god wasn't wasted on Loki either. Loki seemed to ooze of perfection; the cut of his abdominal muscles was impressive, as was the thin line of dark hair that led to a neatly trimmed thicket of curls above his sex that was already semi-hard and slightly red.

Despite his best efforts, Bucky felt a warmth shoot through his belly at the sight. His base needs hadn't been fulfilled in some time now; it seemed secondary in comparison, and well Romanova was no longer an option. She had defected; became a part of the organization called SHIELD, and had fought against Loki, during his attempted invasion too.

Loki had been the only one he'd been physical with for a very long time. It had been good too; incredible, if he had to be perfectly honest. Which brought into question, if Loki had come all this way to revisit what they had shared all those months ago; did that mean he found it to be as satisfying as Bucky did?

"I do believe I have your full attention now." Loki practically purred.

"What do you want?" Bucky managed to say, although the huskiness of his voice was unexpected.

"Words couldn't even possibly describe what I want, Soldier." The god sauntered towards him, swaying his hips in a way that couldn't be interpreted in any other way than the obvious. "And while one of my greatest weapons are my words; I do believe actions oftentimes take precedent over them. Don't you agree?"

The distance between them slowly closed, until Bucky was a hair's breadth away from Loki. He could smell a variety of things on his skin; leather, firewood, and something so distinctly removed that there wasn't even a name for it. Perhaps it belonged to the realm that Loki had originated from; Bucky couldn't say with any authority, though.

"I've dreamt of you; coveted you even." Loki reached forward, and slipped Bucky's ski mask down to reveal the lower half of his face. "I've taken from many, but you have weighed heavily on my mind. Be flattered."

"You talk too much." Bucky retorted, as he openly stared at the god's mouth.

"Silence me then." Loki demanded, almost giddily.

Bucky knew it was a horrible idea, becoming physically compromised by a dangerous entity. He should have known better by now, and yet that didn't deter him from nipping at Loki's bottom lip. His cybernetic hand dropped heavily to the side of Loki's neck, as he drew in closer to kiss him breathless.

Something heady thrummed through his veins, as he hungrily kissed the god. Their lips melded together naturally, as if they were meant for this. But Bucky suspected it was his pooling arousal talking more than anything else. He wasn't the romantic type, after all.

Romance required an inkling of humanity, and any humanity he might have had was nonexistent now. Maybe that reflection with brilliant and happy blue eyes once was human; the one who sauntered around like he wasn't some scrappy Brooklyn…

The memory dissolved, as he felt the press of Loki's tongue against his lips; which he parted for they could deepen the already heated kiss. Their mouths worked savagely against one another's; tongues tangling and roving and licking and tasting, until Bucky was drunk by the strange taste that was Loki. He pulled away with a groan, and breathed in as much oxygen as he could.

Loki chuckled as his hands suddenly found their way to the many clasps of his utility vest. There wasn't a need for any words; Bucky knew how to take orders, even when they weren't explicitly given. Carelessly he stabbed the top of the side table, leaving the bowie knife embedded in the cheap wood; before his hands swatted Loki's away.

He suspected that Loki could eventually unearth the intricacies of the clasps and zippers of his apparel, but he preferred to handle it himself. It was simpler that way, and left ample time for them to savage one another's mouths without too much distraction. Which was precisely what happened; Loki kissed him again, jamming his tongue into Bucky's mouth, although it lacked its previous finesse.

Desperation seemed to dictate their combined actions; they kissed wetly in between pants and groans, while Bucky's hands easily worked open his vest. Loki had gripped his hair between his fists in a sweet pleasure-pain sort of way that would have made any normal individual's eyes tear up. He wasn't any normal individual, though; he reveled in the pain.

They parted moments afterwards, so that Bucky could remove his utility vest and ski mask accordingly. Once it hit the floor, his hands worked masterly on the buttons and zippers of his trousers. Loki took on a proactive approach, crouching in front of him and yanking the knots of his boot laces until they came free.

Before long Bucky stepped out of his boots, and got further help from Loki; who quickly yanked down his trousers and underwear to expose his growing erection. The cold in the air threatened to derail that, though. Regardless of the fact, he had grown accustomed to frigid temperatures of Moscow; he still wore layers when the furnace was out of commission.

"I knew I liked you for a reason." Loki rose to his feet once more, smiling cheekily at him.

"I don't know if that's a compliment or not." He returned, only to grow quiet as Loki wrapped his fingers around the base of his sex and began to stroke him lazily.

His mind went perfectly blank; unnecessary thoughts and ponderings dissipated, and only sensation ruled in its place. Loki's hand was warm and firm and big; his fingers were long and talented, and knew how to touch Bucky in a way that hardened him up completely.

"Not many mortals have piqued my interest, if you must know." Loki nuzzled his jaw, before his tongue snuck out to taste his skin. "And rarely have I've wanted to _revisit_ them, Soldier."

Absentmindedly Bucky rested a hand to the god's chest; splaying his fingers across the skin that was a shade lighter than his own. Neither of them was olive skinned; both of them were dreadfully pale but dark in the same instance. They had similarities, but overall they were worlds apart. How could he measure up to a god, after all?

Loki backpedaled towards the double bed, still maintaining his hold on Bucky's erection; and led him the small distance until he plopped down onto the edge with an unmarred sort of grace. Bucky found his way between his outspread thighs, and gripped his hair with both hands. He tilted the god's head back, before pressing his mouth down onto his with a groan of contentment.

His tongue found Loki's within seconds; they tangled together heatedly, as Loki began to pump him in earnest. Bucky's body shuddered in appreciation; even with his multiple years of training, effectively killing many of his human-like traits, he didn't stand a chance when taken into hand by a bona fide god.

His hips jutted forward and pressed further into the circle of Loki's fingers; suddenly feeling light-headed but in the best possible way imaginable. He was consumed by the sensation; the heat that originated in his belly, and freely burned in his groin now. And the taste of the god on his tongue was enough to unmake him.

"The things I've envisioned of you." Loki drew his mouth away; his lips were colored a deep red and swollen now. "I am not one to, heh, deprive myself of anything. Yet I haven't been able to emulate what I want from you, even when I've taken matters into my own hands."

"Never took you for the sentimental type."

"Sentiment and wanton are two separate things, Soldier." Loki squeezed him by the root, which pulled out a grunt from his lips. "I'm hungry for you, not attached to you."

"Same difference,"

"Untrue," the god pressed his wet mouth to his collar bone, slowly implementing his teeth into the contact; but by no means was it a delicate sort of nip or anything. It was hard-edged and sharp, and Bucky felt the skin break.

His fingers tightened in that roll of inky black hair, but he didn't yank Loki away. Not when the combination of pain and pleasure were only making his body ache for more. He felt so much more alive than he had in a very long time; it was exhilarating and dizzying to be in such a position. He only ever had a similar, somewhat duller, feeling the moments before a kill. But it always dissipated before it could climax; the thrill was gone, whenever it was a clean shot.

This, on the other hand, was messy and ugly and raw. He liked it that way too; he liked how Loki's teeth snagged on his skin, and how his hand glided up his cock and thumbed the swollen head lightly. Which made his hips piston forward, close to desperate to be manipulated head-first into his eventual orgasm; but he knew Loki wouldn't be an easy touch. He didn't want him to be either.

"Maybe I'll keep you." The god pelted his collar bone with kisses, and moved across the expanse of his well-toned chest. "I haven't kept a mortal in centuries."

"You'll go without this one." Bucky moaned embarrassingly loud, as Loki nudged his thumbnail underneath the slit of his cock.

"We'll see about that." Loki hummed, before he latched onto one of his nipples; manipulating Bucky to the best of his abilities.

It was working too; whether or not he chose to admit it was another story altogether. Except his body gave him away; the jerky motion of his hips, his hurried breathing, and the dribble of precum that coated Loki's hand as he continued to tease him, told the story in its entirety.

Bucky released Loki's hair shakily; he then shoved at the god's shoulders, hard enough to displace him. One of those cocky and belittling chuckles erupted from Loki's lips, but he unhanded Bucky nonetheless and lied back onto the narrow bed; displaying every square inch of his upper body and the obscene protrusion of his erection, which was flushed red and curved against his belly.

Without any hesitation whatsoever, Bucky bracketed his hands on either side of Loki's head, and leaned in until his mouth hovered above the god's. He could feel the curve of Loki's smile against his lips, although his eyes were hazy with desire; desire for someone as sub-human as him. And maybe that was why; maybe Loki wanted someone human in biology but emotionally devoid.

"You can cop out now; I don't hold back any punches, you know." He looked into Loki's eyes that darkened with his words.

"I wouldn't want you to, Soldier." Loki cupped his buttocks in his hands; squeezing it, almost as if it was his lifeline. "Now show me what you've got."

Bucky was never one to shy away from a challenge. Romanova had frequently egged him on in several areas; mostly they were confined to clean kill shots, sparring, or exactly what Loki had wanted. The fact of the matter was that he lived as he was trained to; precise, spot-on, vicious, and deadly.

With a speed that seemed improbable for someone of his stature, Bucky managed to flip Loki onto his belly; even if he was surprisingly heavy for someone so lithe. It helped that his cybernetic arm took a brute of the weight; otherwise he might have pulled something. And he didn't find it very appealing to explain to his superiors how he had strained himself. Because he would tell the truth, since he preferred it compared to someone believing he was substandard at his job.

The huff of surprise that came out of Loki was oddly satisfying to him. The god's limbs were splayed every which way; too long to find refuge on the lumpy mattress, but he didn't seem to mind either. Not that Bucky would care anyway; he had other things on his mind, other plans to execute and they all revolved around that never-ending plane of white skin in front of him. Skin that was so white that he was reminded of the coldest point of winter in the countryside; where he had plodded in knee deep snow with a gun strapped across his back, single-mindedly focused on the end game.

He pressed his fingers into Loki's back; touched and kneaded the muscle underneath, before he stroked every visible bit of vertebra that he could find. But that was where the gentleness ended and where the cruelty began; painful and delightful cruelty. The kind that he knew would be welcomed by the would-be ruler of Earth.

His cybernetic hand swatted unforgivingly at the swell of Loki's bottom. The sound echoed off the paper thin walls, and stole the breath out of Loki; if it was any indication of the choked gasp he made when his hand made contact. And Bucky found that he liked that noise; both the sound of his metal appendage striking flesh, and the one Loki made when it happened.

Without any hesitation, he slapped the same cheek; marveling at the jerk of the god's body and how his skin took on a pinkish hue. His hand descended onto the other cheek, swatting harder than the first two times which earned him another gasp from the god. And that only inspired him further to abuse that perfect bottom, until it was bright red and imprinted with the grooves of his finger joints; and that only served to fuel his already painfully hard erection further.

"Is that all you got?" The god choked out, only to be silenced by Bucky's quick thinking.

It might have been categorized as cruel and unusual punishment, but he wasn't beyond cruelty. In fact, he found something deeply gratifying about shoving a mechanical finger into Loki's unprepared body. Especially when the god arched his back and barked out a string of words that weren't in any language Bucky had ever previously heard before; he suspected they weren't meant to be understood by a pesky mortal anyway.

Bucky worked the digit in and out of Loki's body; he was thorough too. He rubbed the muscles, poked and prodded despite the litany of venom filled nonsense Loki was spewing. While sensation barely registered in the mechanics of his arm (although an overzealous inventor had garnered some heat sensation, glitchy at best), he could imagine it just fine; he knew Loki was hot and tight.

He could feel the pressure and the way Loki's body tried to reject the intrusion; yet he did nothing to dissuade Bucky either. He knew that Loki could have easily squirmed out of this situation; magic away or even turn around and snap his neck like a brittle twig. Instead he let Bucky thrust his finger in and out of him with hard and violating motions; even allowing him to force another digit into him, and caused another outburst to break out.

Brutally, Bucky scissored his fingers open and stretched Loki bit by bit. His erection leapt and ached, as he watched the rhythm he established; no less the cacophony of sound that continued to spill freely from the god's mouth.

"Ah, you'll regret this!" Loki choked out, punctuated by the sound of cloth ripping under his tightly fisted hands. " _Oh_ , you, ah,"

"You talk too much," he grunted in reply, before he used his real hand to tangle into Loki's hair, and yank his head back with unneeded force. "Take it like a good boy and we won't have any problems."

He added in a third finger for good measures then, and fucked in and out of the god in quick succession; all the while maintaining the grip on his once perfectly coiffed mane. But there was something far better about Loki when he was covered in a sheen of perspiration with swollen lips, and a wild-eyed look on his face. That only became wilder when Bucky hooked his fingers at the perfect spot.

Loki's body convulsed violently and another series of garbled words erupted from his mouth. His eyes rolled back into his head, while his mouth dropped open in appreciation; which might have possibly been the prettiest sight Bucky had ever seen, edging out the elaborate firework display that one time at Coney Island.

The memory, one that came back so fluidly, ceased his movements for a split-second. Long enough to earn him an almost annoyed look from Loki, that he remedied by a brutal twist of his wrist that plunged his fingers further into the god's now loosening body.

After several more thrusts, Bucky withdrew his fingers and found that they were sticky; similarly to the few times he had pleasured Romanova with his false hand. He parted his fingers, almost fascinated by how the slick stretched in translucent strands before breaking apart seconds later.

"Magic," Loki said smugly, as he watched his curiosity on full display.

"Move up on the bed." Bucky released his hair roughly; only to maneuver to the top of the bed and toss the pillow away, and grab the loaded pistol that he placed on the bedside table next to the bowie knife.

Loki didn't try anything funny; didn't try to seek any revenge for the rough handling he'd been subjected to. He simply followed instructions and climbed fully onto the bed, although his legs were still much too long to be comfortably stretched out. Bucky knew from firsthand experience; the bed barely accommodated to him, and he was several inches shorter than the god.

Once Loki had positioned himself on his belly, bending his legs at the knees; Bucky made room for himself on the impossibly small mattress. He climbed into the space between Loki's parted thighs, and peered up at the god who returned his gaze.

The god's eyes were hazy with pleasure, wanton even. He didn't need to say anything, although Bucky imagined he wanted to. Mockery and demands were bound to slip out of those brilliantly red lips at any given moment, and Bucky wanted to prevent that at all costs. Words were meaningless, after all.

Leaning inward and bracketing his cybernetic hand next to Loki's flank, Bucky spit into the palm of his fleshy hand and then pumped his erection. It was a poor substitute for lubrication, and there wasn't enough slick on his other hand to make much of a difference either. So spit would have to do, and he doubted he could really break Loki anyway even without it.

Bucky held onto the base of his cock, slowly guiding it to the cleft of Loki's buttocks. He didn't push in though; rather he rubbed the leaking head across the welted and reddened skin of one cheek then the other, unable to suppress the smirk that passed across his lips by the whimper that came from the god. Only the smirk froze on his lips, when he trailed his erection down against Loki's sac.

A surge of pleasure ripped through Bucky unexpectedly, and he knew he needed to be inside Loki now. He could tease him until they both were on the verge of madness, but he found the idea lost its luster by the build-up in his balls and the pleasurable ache in his groin. Even if he wanted Loki to beg and whine for relief; his own relief took precedent now.

With a final teasing rub to Loki's heavy sac, Bucky directed his cock in between the god's cheeks and tested the resistance with a gentle push forward. Loki was loose enough for him to slide the head in, which was like a punch to the stomach. It stole Bucky's breath away by how good he felt; how _wet_ he was too.

Words couldn't properly describe how he felt, beyond a redundant string of vulgarities. So he didn't even bother with it; he only pressed his other hand to Loki's side, and pistoned his hips forward, fighting the protest of muscle until he glided in inch by inch.

" _Oh yes_." Loki moaned unashamedly, as Bucky sunk in further and further; eventually bottoming out and encased by velvety hot perfection.

Bucky gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes shut, reminded all too vividly on their previous intimacy on the rooftop. Except this time it felt even better, as if Loki ensnarled him with bodily delights beyond all rhyme and reason. And maybe this was a trick, and he was falling into a trap. But he couldn't bring himself to care; he was bound to die miserably anyway, so it really didn't matter.

The sensation was intoxicating, maddening so even. Loki, however, didn't allow him to revel in it beyond a few moments. He intentionally clenched around Bucky, almost painfully so, in a silent demand (or maybe a plea) for him to move.

He opened one eye and peered down at Loki; who had awkwardly twisted his neck to look back towards him. There was something feral and worthy of piety about the expression on the god's face, and Bucky wasn't immune to it either. And that was why he couldn't help but roll his hips, and press his aching member further into Loki's wet heat.

After several experimental rolls and jerks, Bucky adopted a rhythm that suited him best. He worked in a steady but demanding pace, withdrawing halfway out of Loki; before he jutted forward with enough power to jar the whole bed. The metal frame shuddered with each thrust and the bedsprings groaned, as they were prone to do with the slightest of movements.

Bucky fucked into Loki without pause; gripped by that pleasure-pain that zipped up and down his spine. Heat bloomed in his groin and spread outwards, as his hips pistoned forward with increasingly harder thrusts; so powerful in fact, the sharp sound of flesh striking flesh filled the air.

"I won't break." Loki tittered breathlessly, before the sound was replaced by a groan. "Harder and faster,"

"Pain in the ass," Bucky withdrew halfway out, only to plunge back in with much more force that had him seeing stars.

That was enough of a motivator to dictate his rhythm now; he pounded into Loki relentlessly, hard and fast until the headboard bounced and banged into the already cracked drywall. Loki reached out and grabbed onto the bars, moaning and urging Bucky on in mangled English and words in that foreign tongue of his.

Bucky closed his eyes and focused on prolonging the pleasure, while also attempting to plunge further into that welcoming heat; which fluttered and clenched around him in hopes of milking him of his release. And god only knew he would spill every last drop into Loki within the coming minutes.

Loki felt too good; wet and tight and intoxicating. The noises that came out of him were sinuous too; deep inhalations and soft purrs of approval, that became louder by a particularly good jab that Bucky administrated. But it was nothing compared to the explosion of sound that came out of the god, when Bucky repositioned himself slightly and canted his hips forward with renewed vigor.

Before he even fully registered why that happened, Bucky used it to his advantage. He pounded into the god at that exact angle, and felt his whole body convulse and tremble and writhe; while loud and husky noises expelled from Loki's mouth.

"Yes," Loki arched his back and pushed back into Bucky; intensifying the pleasure on Bucky's end too.

Loki clenched around him in a vice-like grip, as he brushed against his prostate with every thrust; which eventually compromised his well-paced movements, and made them sloppy and uncoordinated and wild. His hips worked desperately and of their own volition, although they remained precise nonetheless. He continued to fuck up into Loki's prostate and continued to pull out a litany of pleasurable sounds from his mouth.

In that moment nothing else mattered; Bucky lived for those sounds, for the build-up in his groin and the compounded heat at the base of his spine. The slap of skin to skin, the sensation of the heaviness of his sac connecting with Loki's buttocks with every thrust, was making it harder for him to breathe. He was spiraling out of control and he loved every moment of it.

Blindly he raised his cybernetic hand and shoved Loki's head down to the mattress; leveraging his body further, and giving him momentum to fuck the god harder. Loki moaned inhumanly as Bucky gripped his hair between his fingers and continued his ministrations like a madman.

Somewhere beyond their bubble of ecstasy, Bucky heard the irritable banging on the wall that combated with the headboard's, and an incensed voice. It sounded like the old woman next door, whose speech was compromised by her lack of teeth; but that never stopped her from haughtily complaining about anything and everything. And it sounded as if she was threatening to call the police if they didn't quiet down.

However, that really didn't compute at all; it didn't matter. The only thing that did currently was Loki writhing beneath him, and the extraordinary bliss he was receiving from his movements. Which was threatening to hit its apex at any given moment; Bucky could feel the tingling at the top of his head, and the way his testicles began to draw up in anticipation for his release.

" _James_ ," Loki cried out suddenly without any preamble, but so damn effective it was mind blowing.

Bucky's hips jerked involuntarily and his back bowed; it felt like the air was sucked out of his lungs by the pleasure that swarmed every inch of his body. His mouth fell open in a silent cry and he closed his eyes against the fury and power of his climax; which washed away any lucidity that he previously had, and left him with the echo of _James_ in his head.

He came harder than he ever had before; spilling his seed deep into Loki's compliant body and painting his already wet insides. He collapsed on top of Loki unceremoniously then; his hips twitching in a feeble attempt to chase his orgasm still.

But he soon regained some semblance of control, despite the buzzing in his head. Bucky weakly slipped out of Loki with an obscene squelch, before he managed to roll the god onto his back. Loki was still erect and hazy with arousal, which spiked the after effects of Bucky's own orgasm once more.

Taking in several breaths, Bucky bent his head and took Loki into his mouth; groaning softly as the god reached for his hair and secured him into place. While he wasn't particularly well-versed in fellatio, he had excelled in cunnilingus; if his previous experience was anything to go by. So he drew on his prior knowledge, and laved the underside of Loki's thick member with his tongue and teasingly suckled on it.

His hand wrapped around the base, as his mouth worked diligently to bring Loki to climax. He sucked harder on the flesh between his lips; tasting the salty and bitter flavor of Loki's precum on his tongue.

"Put your fingers, ah, inside of me." Loki shuddered violently, and his cock twitched in Bucky's mouth desperately. "Please, _James_."

That name was oddly familiar and he didn't know why, but it fueled his desire to please for some reason. It was the only reason why he pressed two of his mechanical fingers into Loki's swollen and stretched hole, and started to fuck him as he had with his cock only moments beforehand.

Another cry ripped out of Loki; loud and unfiltered, and Bucky was given the opportunity to witness it. He stared up at the god, whose eyes were clenched closed and his mouth was open and forming each and every moan and gasp and ragged breath. Bucky couldn't keep his gaze off of him, even as Loki's hips lifted and he tasted a wave of impossibly bitter fluid on his tongue.

Loki came in his mouth; fast and plentiful, which only made Bucky gag. Somehow Bucky managed not to choke, even as Loki poured more and more of his seed into his mouth; filling it up until it ran out of the sides of his lips in a mess. Spittle and cum dribbled out of Bucky's mouth, although he attempted to swallows as much as he could.

"Lovely boy, oh such a good boy," the god whimpered, as his fingers released his hair and stroked it instead. "That's exquisite, mm."

Slowly Bucky slipped his fingers out of Loki, and then released his now softening member from between his lips. The salty tang of Loki's release still covered his taste buds, but he found that it really didn't bother him much; despite not being very pleasant either.

He sat back on his haunches in between Loki's outspread thighs; wiping away the slick on his mechanical fingers onto the scratchy blankets. He suspected he might have to toss them out; unless, of course, he decided an impromptu rubbish fire was appropriate, considering the furnace's lack of presence.

"I think I will keep you." Loki sat up, purring like a pleased kitten; before he took Bucky by the chin and placed a chaste kiss onto his lips.

"Are you sure about that? Wouldn't Stark be opposed to that?" Bucky arched an eyebrow, almost pleased by the sudden shift on the god's face.

"Stark who,"

"You're smarter than that." He easily reached across to the side table and pulled open the drawer; on top of the many stacks of files was the one he had taken from SHIELD's European base over a month ago.

His intention had been to only take Romanova's and Captain America's, but he saw the benefit of taking many of the files tied to the Avengers Initiative; which included the head of Stark Industries, Tony Stark. And their current concern about Stark's activities was rather interesting to say the least.

Flipping open the file, Bucky scanned the cover page; he turned several pages until he found the information he had studied weeks beforehand. It was there in black and white, impossibly pertinent data that seemed to keep SHIELD's operatives up at night.

"Heightening suspicions of Stark's involvement with the well-documented war criminal and extraterrestrial Loki Laufeyson aka Loki Odinson, has become more of a concern recently. Stark's promiscuity has proven to be problematic in the past; Agent Romanoff has vocalized her concerns on several different occasions. She has claimed to have seen Laufeyson in Stark's private penthouse in New York City, unbeknownst to the other parties.

"Unfortunately, Agent Romanoff hasn't any definitive proof of any untoward behavior between Stark and Laufeyson taking place of present. However, it is in our opinion that we should keep stricter surveillance on Stark to ensure his loyalties haven't wavered." Bucky read aloud, before he shut the file.

Loki's eyes had darkened considerably, which inspired Bucky to abandon the bed. He tossed the file back into the drawer, and took possession of the bowie knife. The god didn't make any rash moves, though; except follow Bucky's movements as he placed the knife between his teeth and pulled on his undergarments and pants, despite the stickiness on his body.

The smell of sex was still heady in the air; ripe and a little nauseating, although he hardly regretted it. Maybe he should have kept his discovery of Loki's relationship with Stark a secret, especially if it meant a bloody fight was in his future. Yet he couldn't bring himself to regret that either.

"Oh, I could very well cease my activities with Stark for you _James_." The god said quietly, as he climbed onto his feet and bore down onto Bucky; in no way threatened by the bowie knife between his teeth. "Is that what you'd want; to have me all to your selfish self?"

"My name isn't James." He removed the knife from his mouth.

"What is your name then; Winter Soldier?"

"It's none of your concern."

"Oh, I know about you too. You know of one of my little secrets, well I know your biggest one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes." Loki emphasized each name, rolled it on his tongue, and spat it out venomously. "Беда́ никогда́ не прихо́дит одна́."

"Да, я слышал," he scowled.

"I'll come again for you." Loki kneeled and retrieved his mantle; before he wrapped it securely back into place around his shoulders. "You are mine; whether or not you choose to believe it, well that is irrelevant to me."

Words failed him; Bucky found he never was very good at articulating himself. Silence seemed to be his best weapon, so he said nothing as the god leaned into him and kissed him firmly, bordering on possessively.

He maintained his silence still, when Loki disappeared as he had appeared; sudden and without any forewarning. One moment he was there and then the next he was gone; almost as if he was a mirage that had been conjured up in the heat vapors that wafted off the blacktop of the brick building that used to be home so many years ago. A lifetime ago even; he couldn't tell anymore.

"What have you gotten yourself into Barnes?" The words left his mouth, as if they were well-known to a side of him that he didn't know about still. But he didn't dwell on them; instead he slid the bowie knife into its thigh holster and made his way across the room to the bathroom.

As he stepped onto the chilly tiles, Bucky peered at his reflection in the mirror. For a split-second he could have sworn he saw that jaunty grin on his lips again, and that tidy green uniform on his body. Except in reality, he was faced with smeared grease paint around his eyes, day old stubble on his cheeks, cum and spittle on his lips, and a gleaming silver arm that was no more his than anything else was in his shabby little apartment.

"James Buchanan Barnes, who are you exactly?" He asked no one, and only heard the folk music on the other end of the wall and the carefree laughter of some lowly criminals somewhere down the hallway.

Loki didn't come back to enlighten him either. But he would be back, that much Bucky was sure of. And he supposed the only thing he could do was wait for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Беда́ никогда́ не прихо́дит одна́ - "Misfortune never comes alone" or "Misery loves company".
> 
> Да, я слышал - "Yes, I've heard".


End file.
